deepundergroundpoetry.com
Meaninglessness
I miss you –
Almost as much as I miss me
***
It’s hard to use the washed out meaninglessness of words
To try to fill the vacuum of numb
They lay dull
Like old yellow paint
Without warmth and scarce able to fill their purpose
Faded
Everything seems lost in the fading
But not to gray
No
But rather to the invisibility of pointlessness
***
Take away the heart that beats and how does one continue to live and breath?
I’m Pavlov’s dog
I respond reflexively to the alarm clock,
The traffic light,
And the time clock
But I just wander through my day
Not even a passenger on this ride called life
Just a voyeur
If one can be so and be passionlessly so
***
How does one go from being everything
To, “Sorry, you’re not worth the time”
Life is simply the distance between
“I love you, babe”
And
“What do you want now?”
** *
The only question remaining is,
Is there life after death?
I don’t know
One has to care to truly dream
And I am so cocooned in the lethargy of numb
Listening to the echoes of,
“Why?”
It’s hard to use the washed out meaninglessness of words
Almost as much as I miss me
***
It’s hard to use the washed out meaninglessness of words
To try to fill the vacuum of numb
They lay dull
Like old yellow paint
Without warmth and scarce able to fill their purpose
Faded
Everything seems lost in the fading
But not to gray
No
But rather to the invisibility of pointlessness
***
Take away the heart that beats and how does one continue to live and breath?
I’m Pavlov’s dog
I respond reflexively to the alarm clock,
The traffic light,
And the time clock
But I just wander through my day
Not even a passenger on this ride called life
Just a voyeur
If one can be so and be passionlessly so
***
How does one go from being everything
To, “Sorry, you’re not worth the time”
Life is simply the distance between
“I love you, babe”
And
“What do you want now?”
** *
The only question remaining is,
Is there life after death?
I don’t know
One has to care to truly dream
And I am so cocooned in the lethargy of numb
Listening to the echoes of,
“Why?”
It’s hard to use the washed out meaninglessness of words
Published 19th Sep 2019
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comments 7
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The author encourages honest critique.
20th Sep 2019 00:07am
It's one of life's many trails and tribulations we break up we love we then have regret for that is relationships but yet one thing is for sure we live and learn from the depth of the situation nicely written
20th Sep 2019 00:25am
20th Sep 2019 00:48am
21st Sep 2019 8:56pm
Sometimes, from experience, a person can be cold out of love, out of preserving the mental well-being of the other party. May not apply here but there's comfort in it.
21st Sep 2019 10:54pm
It's the proverbial valley of death for me. But each of us has our own survival skills. One day I'll figure out what mine are.
Thank you for sharing your insights with me. "Cold out of love" is something I shall need ponder.
Thank you for sharing your insights with me. "Cold out of love" is something I shall need ponder.
22nd Sep 2019 7:12am
To show love is to engage in the symptoms of it, to indulge in the side effects, if the love is toxic it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Sometimes to hide love is a way of showing more affection, preserving what was without causing more heartache for both parties. I would rather be deeply in love with a person and not let them know it than tell them and sink them, and myself, my sanity, within it.
Love is daybreak, it is the dawn. Love is sunset and the fragrance of evening coming on. Love is nightfall and the wishing stars, and all the heavenly diamonds lying just beyond. Love is the day to day, the ordinary, the plain, and often the more exquisitely so...And love is hopelessly more than I can ever find words. Love is toxic to the death and the sweetest breath of life.
And yet, love in silence and unspoken...withheld and unrevealed...seems a robbery and a cell, and perhaps that and doubly so. This is deeper than my knowing - as is all love, and so, again, I shall ponder the unthought of. And yet, the silences seem familiar...
And yet, love in silence and unspoken...withheld and unrevealed...seems a robbery and a cell, and perhaps that and doubly so. This is deeper than my knowing - as is all love, and so, again, I shall ponder the unthought of. And yet, the silences seem familiar...
